Tuesday
by The Self-Proclaimed Book Whore
Summary: Stony AU "You are going to be perfect." Was the first thing the random stranger, a guy called Tony, that pulled Steve off the street said to him and Steve knew it wasn't going to be any ordinary Tuesday, especially when the guy offers him money to pretend to be his boyfriend so he doesn't get engaged. Bucky is never hearing about this. Stony fic so SLASH. Rated cause they swear.
1. Calloused Fingers

Just a bit of a Stony two-shot :D

Disclaimer, I don't own anything.

Russian translations were done using GoogleChrome so please forgive me if they suck. (English translations are at the bottom). Any other errors are my fault, my knowledge comes from obsessively watching the movies and excessive use of Wikipedia and that MarvelWiki-thingy.

* * *

 **Calloused Fingers**

Steve had a thing about what day it was.

Mondays were generally pretty shit. Both his and Bucky's moms had died on a Monday (different Mondays), the IED-thing that had cost Bucky his arm and both their careers had happened on a Monday. Wednesdays were even worse, they had been captured on a Wednesday. Saturdays were alright though, nothing bad had ever happened on a Saturday, but then again nothing spectacularly good had ever happened on a Saturday either.

Thursdays were the best, Steve had met Bucky on a Thursday. They had also escaped on a Thursday and had been rescued a week later, also on a Thursday. Thursdays were really awesome. Fridays were pretty alright, they had the tendency to go either way to be honest, so they were always a gamble for if it was going to be good or bad. Sundays were only beaten by Thursdays and were a lot like Saturdays and Fridays, only a bit better. Tuesdays were ordinary, nothing ever happened on a Tuesday.

Well, except that one Tuesday, but Steve was pretty sure that one day had been the exception to the rule.

Bucky thought he was nuts for judging how good the day would be because of previous events, but Steve knew he was onto something. The guys in their unit thought he was nuts too. Except Morita, but the others would claim he didn't count because he did the same thing, only with the months of the year instead of days of the week. (Thursdays in April and October were the best days of the year, whilst Mondays and Wednesdays in March were to be avoided at all cost).

The Tuesday in question had been before he and Bucky had joined the Marines. They had agreed to sign up together so Steve, who was older than Bucky by almost two years, had two years to do something until Bucky finished school. Taking his best friend's advice he had decided on doing a short, one year art program at the local art school.

He'd been walking home one evening, it was a Tuesday so he hadn't been expecting anything to happen, when a hand shot out of a fence and latched onto his arm. Steve had been in the nicer parts of the city so it had been a shock. Technically he was taking the long way home just so he could admire the old architecture, but he didn't really care, they were beautiful pieces of work.

After a moments scuffle he realised that his assailant was another teen, maybe a year younger than himself, but definitely older than Bucky. While the other teen gazed at him, lips bunched to a side and fingers twiddling with a pencil, Steve took the opportunity to examine him with an artist's eye.

His dark brown hair was long, but short enough to not be tied up, and was sticking up in all directions, his pale brown eyes were flecked with green and there was a smudge of grease or something on the base of his jaw, just under his ear. He was wearing black dress pants with a bright red button down shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to his elbows, showing off toned, slightly scarred arms.

"You," the teen said, and Steve was all too aware of the calloused hand still around his wrist. "Are going to be perfect."

"I'm sorry. _What?_ " Steve blurted out.

"I'm Tony," the teen said, an absolutely gorgeous smile spreading on his face. "Want to pretend to be my boyfriend for the night?"

"Again, what?" Steve blinked, readjusting his bag of art stuff hanging from a shoulder at his side.

The teen, Tony, racked his eyes over him again, making Steve flush a bright red. Bucky tended to tease him for how he dressed but Steve could tell that _Tony_ didn't find it completely ridiculous. He was in dark grey pinstripe pants that stopped just above his ankle (he could never find pants that fit, they were always either too short and didn't reach his ankles or they were too large at his waist), allowing anyone to see his rainbow striped socks and fire truck red converse. Over a white t-shirt, which he had painted a stylistic American flag, he was wearing an open cobalt blue button down shirt. He was also well aware of the fact that his arms were flecked with paint and his fingers smudged with charcoal.

"Boyfriend. You. Me. Please." _Oh, god,_ Steve groaned in his head as Tony pouted, _pouted_ , at him. No bloke should look that _bloody_ hot while pouting.

"Boyfriend…" Steve repeated weakly.

The pout turned into a hesitant and encouraging smile. "That's you…"

"Steve," Steve said, sighing.

"Steve," Tony said, the name rolling slowly from his mouth as it turned up into a grin. "Right, well. You see I need a boyfriend for the night because my psycho-controlling parents are going to try marry me off to some business partner's daughter, so if I introduce you as my boyfriend then they can't do that because _you_ are my amazingly attractive and ridiculously tall, completely gay boyfriend which means I'm hella fucking gay."

"Are you?" Steve blurted out, trying to make sense of the long rambling sentence.

"Am I what?"

"Gay."

"Does it actually matter? No." Tony said, immediately answering his own question. "All that _really_ matters is that you play your part and I don't end up engaged at the end of the night."

When Steve just continued to blink at him Tony pulled out a wad of money. "I'll even pay you," he offered somewhat desperately.

"Ho…how do have that much money?" Steve asked, there had to be at least half a grand there. He was totally _not_ considering going along with this completely crazy idea with a guy he didn't even know.

"Oh, my dad's Howard Stark."

Steve nodded once, but not out of actually understanding. "Is that meant to mean something to me?"

"Fuck, could you _get_ any more perfect."

It was Tuesday, Steve thought. Nothing this insane should be happening. Tuesdays were safe and calm and normal and… _oh, sweet Jesus he's pouting again._

"Do we have a deal?"

 _Tuesdays are normal. Tuesdays are unordinary. Tuesdays are…_ Steve chanted in his head. He wasn't seriously considering doing this. But he and Bucky could really use the money and he looked so sincere and he _needed_ Steve's help and Steve wasn't one to deny anyone help and he had never met such an utterly gorgeous person before and those lips…

Okay, maybe those last couple reasons weren't completely valid.

"YA dolzhen idti psikhicheskogo," he muttered under his breath before saying louder, and in English. "Yeah, why not. We have a deal."

Tony's jaw was hanging open.

"Hey," Steve said, concerned, snapping his fingers in Tony's face.

"You speak Russian," Tony stated.

"Neyt der'mo, Sherlok," Steve muttered in response and Tony's eyes lit up.

"Okay, new idea. You don't speak English, you just speak Russian. Talk a lot in Russian, swear too. I might kiss you, is that all right? Also they will try to split us up and deny our relationship so just stick as close to me as you can."

"It's fine," Steve said, his voice going high on the last syllable, making is sound like a question. "And I do spea…"

"No you don't, not tonight, believe me this will be much better. Come on."

Steve was half dragged along the street as Tony threw his arm around Steve's shoulders. "You're an artist aren't you?" he asked, his lips brushing against Steve's ear.

"Yeah," Steve said for some reason. "It's only a casual thing until Bucky finishes school."

"Bucky?" Tony asked, his face falling. "Oh shit, you don't actually have a boyfriend do you?" His voice became slightly panicked.

"Best friend," Steve answer, repressing a shudder at the thought. "Practically my brother and disgustingly straight."

"What's happening when best friend, practically brother Bucky finishes school?"

Steve flushed slightly as Tony's arm dropped from around his shoulders so he could intertwine their fingers. "We're ummmm, we're enlisting together. Marines."

The flush got darker when Tony planted a quick kiss on his cheek, burrowing his head in Steve's shoulder. " _Fuck_ , you got more perfect," he moaned into Steve's neck. "Long line of NAVY on my mom's side."

"I'll try not to hold that against you, then," Steve said with a small smile.

Stopping in front of one of the more extravagant house Tony placed both his hands on Steve's shoulders. "Alright, remember. You are my so very, very gay, _artist_ boyfriend who doesn't speak English. Got it?"

Steve gave him a flat look. "I'm an artist, not stupid."

Tony laughed, carefree, throwing his head back. "Yes, you are," he grinned, running his hands through Steve's blonde hair, messing it all up and leaving small spots of grease and grime in it.

"Let's do this," Tony paled as he said the words, but the grin remained on his face.

Tony led Steve up the stone stairs and threw open the front door, guiding Steve through a crowd of fancily dressed people until they reached a large kitchen. Grabbing a tall flute off a tray, Tony downed it in one before grabbing another two and handing one to Steve, who took a small sip.

When none of the kitchen staff did anything about it Steve figured that this was normal Tony behaviour.

"Master Anthony," said a very British voice behind them.

Tony spun them around. "Jarvis," he drawled. "This is Steve, my _boyfriend_."

Jarvis gave them both a tight smile. "Of course, welcome, Mr Steve."

Steve gave a smile but remained silent.

Tony shrugged with mock apologeticness. "Steve's Russian," he explained. "He doesn't speak English."

"Seriously, Tony?" three men, probably in their late twenties, came up to them the middle one wearing a sneer as he looked down on them. "A boyfriend? What the hell are you trying to pull this time?"

"Obie, always a delight to see your ugly face," Tony spat. "And you've brought your minions with you I see. Ivy, Hammy, how are we today?"

Tony moved to wrap an arm around Steve's waist.

"This is a new low for you, Tony? Are you trying to ruin SI? What the hell is your problem?"

Steve struggled to keep quiet, he hated bullies like these assholes. Regardless of the fact that he knew nothing of the situation of who any of these people were, Steve did know that he really didn't like these three guys.

"Really," Tony asked, as if he really cared what they thought. "And I wasn't even trying very hard."

"You are the future of Stark Industries, Tony. When are you going to learn to act your age?"

"The future of SI?" Tony spat, his hand grasping Steve's so tight it hurt. "They call my _father_ the Merchant of Death, do you really think I want any part of that _legacy_ ," he spat the words out like they tasted foul in his mouth.

"Does Uncle Howard know about this?" Obie, obviously the leader of the three, asked.

"You honestly think I give a fuck what dear old _daddy_ thinks. The man is barely my father and only through genetics."

Hammy or Ivy, Steve didn't actually know which was which spoke up. "What about your _boyfriend_ , what does he think of this?" he asked, and Steve could practically feel the quotation marks.

Tony shrugged, leaning into Steve. "I doubt he has an opinion on it either way. Apart from the fact that he doesn't speak English, he's going to enlist in the Marines. Special Forces, the guys that help people, not blow them up."

"Christ, are trying to get flogged. Why the _hell_ would you bring a Marine here, you don't even fucking speak Russian."

Tony smirked and Steve just knew it was going to be good. "Well, I think our mouths would be a little too busy _sucking each other's dicks_ to get much talking in, if I'm being honest."

Steve struggled to not choke on the sip of the golden yet slightly tinged pink translucent liquid Tony had handed him when a door behind the three opened.

"Dolzhny li my poyti i vypit' goryachego, gey seks lyubov' moya?" Tony asked Steve casually.

"Pokhozhe, ideya," Steve replied, setting his almost empty flute down straight onto a wooden table as Tony began to tug him out of the room.

Ivy or Hammy, whichever one hadn't spoken earlier flinched and grimaced. "You should be disgusted," he spat in a thickly accented voice.

"Are you sure it's alright if I kiss you?" Tony whispered into his ear.

"Da," Steve replied casually.

"Oh for God's sake, have some respect, would you." Obie spat. It seemed one of the minions had informed Obie of what they had said.

"For what? A murderer?" Tony snorted. "No thanks. I think I'll pass. Try again next millennium, maybe. I wouldn't recommend it though because no matter when you xask, you'll most likely be shit outta luck, assho…"

"Will. you. s _hut up._ " Obie hissed. "Happy and Harley here."

"They could use the education, probably be good for them. Might teach them to not become small-minded, judgemental dicks when they grow up."

"Aunty Maria's looking for you, Tony." One of the young boys piped up. "She heard about your Marine."

Tony smirked at Steve's apparent new title. Grinning cheekily he rested a hand on the back of Steve's neck and pulled him down to press their lips together. After running his tongue along Steve's bottom lip for a second, Tony drew back. "Tell mom she can shove it up her a…"

"Tony!" Obie yelled at their backs because they were already out of the kitchen.

Weaving through men in expensive suits and ladies in floor length gowns they ran up a flight of stairs, still connected by their laced fingers, and into a large bedroom.

Laughing almost hysterically Tony flopped into the bed, lying on his back with his arms flung above his head, causing his shirt to ride up, exposing a strip of the pale white flesh of his stomach.

Steve slumped against the wall, a couple tears leaking from his eyes at the absurdity of it all. "You do this often then?" he asked, swallowing his laughter.

Tony gazed at him. "Never."

" _God,_ " Steve breathed out as he straightened up, looking around the room.

There was stuff everywhere. The walls were plastered with plans and blueprints and, along one was a large table overflowing with equipment and there were inventions and contraptions taking up every inch of free space.

The only light in the room was coming from a small glowing blue… thing. Steve wasn't actually sure what it was and moved closer to look at it. He was bent over at the waist, head fully tilted on its side and his nose barely an inch from the device when something bumped into his elbow.

Jumping in shock, Steve scrunched up his nose when Tony started laughing at him. "Steve met Dum-E, he's my first attempt at an AI. Dum-E this is Steve, he's agreed to be my boyfriend for the night."

Steve looked between Tony and Dum-E in wonder. "Artificial Intelligence," he said softly. "That's brilliant."

Tony shrugged and stretched, making his shirt ride up even more.

Steve nodded at Dummy. "Hello Dum-E, nice to meet you."

Dum-E gave a happy whirl and nudged Steve again until the blonde patted the robot. Shaking his head in wonder Steve picked his way across the room and sat down on the bed next to Tony.

"You did amazing by the way," Tony commented.

Steve hummed noncommittally. "This is all very … strange."

"Nah, not really. Mom and dad just _love_ to play happy families but shit's always going down around here. Can't wait till I can leave." Tony let his head flop to the side so he could look at Steve. "Suppose it would be a bit crazy, for you anyway."

"I don't like bullies much," Steve said. "They like this a lot?"

Tony snorted. "That was all pretty tame, actually."

"Huh," Steve's eyebrows rose. "So what now?"

Tony shrugged and poked Steve's knee. "So what's with you?" he asked. "You must be good at judging a person's character if you don't like the three morons, but what sort of guy pretends to be the boyfriend of a guy who grabbed him off the street?"

Steve cocked his head in amusement. "Like I said, not a big fan of bullies and you looked like you needed the help. Besides what sort of guy grabs someone of the street and offers money for them to pretend to be their boyfriend? I could be serial killer or something. Maybe I want to use you in some sacrificial ritual you in your own home?"

"Eh. Depends, if it's a sex thing, cool." Tony muttered. "Not like anyone would care if you did," he added after a moment

Steve's chest hurt at that and he was so glad he'd decided to go along with this mad guy who pulled him off the street.

Pulling a pencil from his bag he began doodling on a piece of paper.

"Mummy dearest is probably going to bust in here in a minute or two, Steve. I'll kiss you and then you get the hell out of here."

"That's it?" Steve asked. "Sure I shouldn't stay?"

Tony propped himself up on an elbow. "You _want_ to stay?"

"Hardly seems fair to leave you to deal with this on your own," Steve said, not looking away from the doodle, red creeping up his neck.

Tony didn't answer, instead his hand flicked out and he latched into Steve's right arm, stilling it. Turning it so Steve's wrist was turned up, Tony traced thumb over the small black letters. ' _& you take it like a whore_ ', it said in cursive. Tony's eyes flickered up to Steve's face, who smiled almost bitterly; he twisted his left wrist so Tony could read the words there too; ' _they slap you like a bitch_ '.

"They slap you like a bitch and you take it like a whore," Tony murmured, reading them in the correct order. "Sounds like some good advice."

Steve hummed, a small noise in the back of his throat, and went back to the doodle as Tony let go of him.

Tony laughed bitterly. "No," he said lowly, answering Steve's question. "It's better you didn't. Wouldn't want to corrupt you."

"Corrupt. Me." Steve repeated slowly.

"Yeah, I mean, you're this 'All American' pretty boy, next door neighbour, goody-goody two-shoes," Tony said in a tone that wasn't exactly mocking but it stuck a painful chord in Steve's chest.

Steve laughed loudly at that. "God, Bucky would love that," he commented. "I get into fights almost daily, I am not the good boy you think I am."

"Fights," Tony raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Probably so you could … save a kitten or something."

"Actually it was a three-legged puppy," Steve said flatly and Tony screwed up his eyes as he grinned.

" _Christ_ ," he breathed. Standing up he dug around in his pocket before pulling Steve to his feet by the lapels of his open shirt. The scrap of paper falling from Steve's fingers.

"No, no," Tony said softly, their faces inches from each other. "You should leave. I'll be fine, I always am."

Steve's breath hitched as Tony stuck his hand in the front pocket of his pants, pushing the wad of bills down there, his strong fingers pressing up against the inside of Steve's thigh as he slid his hand out.

"You're too good for this shit, Steve," Tony breathed. "It would ruin you."

Steve wanted to do something, anything to get that look of Tony's face. And, _god,_ he wanted to kiss him, stop him saying those things and keep the light in his eyes. "Bucky says I'm too stupid to know when to run from a fight."

 _Fuck_. Bucky was _never_ hearing about this. Not ever.

"Not this time." There was a soft banging, slowly getting louder, from outside the room and Tony put his hands on Steve's waist. "Ready?" he asked.

"You're mental."

"I prefer eccentric," Tony corrected. "The whole eccentric scientist persona fits me so much better."

"I guess," Steve answered, tilting his head down slightly. "Does that make me the poor artist who makes a killing from his collection inspired by the mad… sorry _eccentric_ scientist that dragged him off the street and paid him to be his boyfriend so he could piss off his parents."

Tony was silent for a moment, a thumb tracing back and forth over Steve's hipbone absentmindedly, before…

"Depends, are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?"

Steve snorted in laughter and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against Tony's.

The thumping outside got louder, the sounds of multiple footsteps out of sync making Steve wince.

"Get out of here as soon as you can, Steve. _Please_ …" the last word came out as barely a whisper. Tony making it clear how much he didn't want Steve to hang around by tightening his grip of Steve's hips.

Steve nodded and would have, wanted to deny it, assure this stranger that he had just met that he would stay, but Tony's hands had left his hips and then there were fingers on his chin pulling his tall fame down so they were at the same level and then Tony's lips were on his again.

Chapped but impossibly soft from being chewed, he tasted like old spice and grease and the stuff they had been drinking before. Tony had his arms around Steve's neck, one hand threaded through his blonde locks, the other tracing designs on the back of his neck with those calloused fingers of his, sending shivers down Steve's spine.

"Fuck," Steve mumbled into Tony's mouth, forgetting why they were doing what they were doing and tugging Tony closer until neither had any idea where they ended and the other began.

Steve had an arm wrapped around Tony's waist, hand resting splayed on the small of the shorter teen's back. His other hand was cupping Tony's neck, charcoal stained fingers tilting Tony's head up to meet his, as he rubbed a thumb along Tony's defined jaw bone. He could feel Tony's racing pulse against the palm of his hand.

Dum-E nudged him and Tony until Steve was pressing Tony up against the table, grease and charcoal transferring between them and it was all teeth and tongue and…

The door slammed open behind them but Steve barely noticed as Tony's tongue licked across the roof of his mouth.

"Anthony Edward Stark!" a furious voice yelled. It was a man's, but not one Steve had already heard. He repressed a shudder, it sounded all too like his own father's. Steve and Bucky had celebrated the day the man had died (it had been a Sunday).

Both Tony and Steve were breathing heavily as they parted, lips swollen and red.

"What the fuck do you want?" Tony spat at the man standing in front of the crowd that spilled out of the room.

The man, who looked terribly like Tony, only older, colder and harsher, tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand. "This is pathetic, Anthony, even for you."

Steve was hard pressed not to punch the man there and then, but he wasn't supposed to know what was going on because he didn't speak English.

"What exactly were you trying to accomplish with your little show, Anthony. Everybody saw that."

"Well, that _was_ kind of the whole point, you know." Tony smirked, but it was twisted and cold, nowhere near the impish one Steve had seen before. "Are we done here? Because the way I see there's no point in you trying to get me of with some chick just so you get a better deal or whatever anymore. Doubt any of your _lovely_ buddies want their precious little baby girls marrying a fucking flaming faggot like me."

The man made a low growl and the tumbler shattered in his grip. "You were warned what would happen if you pulled another of your stunts, Anthony. Tell your friend to leave. Now."

Steve glanced at Tony, worry evident in his eyes.

Tony leaned into him. "You should go," he whispered. "Don't change, Steve. Promise me you'll stay perfect."

Steve nodded and drew away. Crouching down next to the bed he picked up the piece of paper he had been doodling on earlier and pressed it into Tony's hand. "You're a good person, Tony. I know you are. Don't let them destroy you," he pleaded quietly, his swollen lips brushing against Tony's ear, making the shorter teen shiver.

Pressing one last quick but firm kiss to Tony's lips Steve walked out of the room. "Udachi c lokhi," he called as he left, pressing through the crowd of fancily dressed people.

It was dark by the time he got back to the flat he shared with Bucky. And it was several months and _a lot_ of alcohol later before Bucky finally got the story out if Steve and even then Bucky was pretty sceptical about it all, despite what he told Steve. (The fact that he had returned to the flat that night looking absolutely dishevelled and more than a little stunned probably had something to do with Bucky's reluctant acceptance… probably). (In any case, Steve was almost positive that Bucky was just humouring him and didn't actually believe him… be he didn't call him in on it).

* * *

YAY...the first half done :)

Translations:

Steve - YA dolzhen idti psikhicheskogo. = I must be going mental.

Steve - Neyt der'mo, Sherlok. = No shit, Sherlock.

Tony - Poydem goryachey gey seks, lyubov' moya? = Shall we go have hot gay sex, my love?  
Steve - Pokhozhe, ideya = Seems like an idea.

Steve - Da. = Yes.

Steve - Udachi c lokhi. = Good luck with the fuckers.

Also, Steve's tattoos are lyrics from the amazingly wonderful song Shake Tramp by Mariana's Trench so obviously I don't own that either. I may have been listening to them a lot when I wrote this.

I've got an exam and a bunch of other things on tomorrow so I'll probably have the next half of this fic up on Wednesday.

-Nita


	2. Blue Eyes

Well, its Wednesday and as promised here's the next half. It's more Tony's point of view, but it kinda slips in places...oops. :P

* * *

 **Blue Eyes**

Tony never really bothered with the days of the week.

He worked until he was exhausted and then he went to sleep until he woke up again before repeating the short, two step cycle. He survived on caffeine, take out and whatever food Pepper and Rhodey brought him.

Pepper told him when he need to make an appearance for something and when he needed to do anything concerning Stark Industries or the Maria Stark Foundation. Other than that he kept to his labs, inventing and tinkering and being his normal anti-social self.

Mostly he kept track of time according to events in his life. There was pre-Howard being a dick and post-Howard being a dick. There was pre-his parents' death and post-his parents' death, which was also pre-him being head of SI and post-him being head of SI. There was pre-Rhodey and post-Rhodey just like there was pre-Pepper and post-Pepper. And somehow, in almost all the situations, his life was better post-whatever.

But the main turning point in his life had happened on a Tuesday. To Pepper and Rhodey who knew about his whole pre/post thing knew the day as pre-disownment and post-disownment, and didn't actually know many of the details (only that he'd been disowned after one stunt too many), but in his own head that exact Tuesday was called pre-Steve/post-Steve.

That had been one hell of a day and the only physical proof he had of it was a scrap of paper with a Chibi-style drawing of Steve and Tony on it.

The mini-Tony was flying around in a suit of red and gold armour, the arc reactor he had built all those years ago glowing in the centre of the armour's chest. His face could be seen and was wearing a cheeky grin that was almost a smirk. A small speech bubble floated over his head encasing the words, ' _I have a plan, Captain America. ATTACK!_ '. A glowing blue beam, the same colour as the arc reactor, was coming out of one hand and was being reflected off the shield mini-Steve was holding and into, what Tony guessed, were aliens or maybe some weird mutant-things. The mini-Steve was wearing a tight suit in bright blue that had red and white accents, namely, a white star over his chest. The shield he was holding had a white star over a blue circle that was rimed by two red and one white stripe. The bubble over his head held the words, ' _Are you crazy, IronMan?_ '.

Things had been bad after that, but also good. A good bad. After being kicked out home he'd gone to MIT where he met Rhodey, who quickly became his best friend. The two couldn't have been more different but for some reason (that Tony prefers not to think about) Rhodey had stuck by him. His parents had died during his third year and Stark Industries had ended up in his hands, much to the dismay of Obie (his cousin), the board and just about everybody else, ever. Within a week of gaining control of the company he had shut down the weapons manufacturing parts before proceeding to spend years reforming the business into something more respectable.

Pepper had come into the picture after some months and almost immediately he made her his PA, that position had changed to CEO of Stark Industries not long after. A move that had left Tony free to spend almost all of his time in the labs and _not_ dealing with other people. The board had even approved of the change after watching Pepper in action for a couple months.

While some of what he invented were Stark Industry products, he mostly specialised in equipment for the military. Most of his time was spent improving the arc reactor and playing around with designs for things that would never see the light of day.

But today he had, possibly, a new project. Rhodey had been the one to approach him about it, asking him to do a favour for a vet he had met at the local VA.

Which was how Tony found himself at said local VA with Rhodey.

Walking through the building they passed through a large hall, about a third of which was roped off along the room's length. It was obvious why. The entire wall was being painted in one large mural/collage, though it was only half finished. The common theme of all the separate images were the various American Defence Forces.

There were art supplies scattered across the roped off area, but no scaffolding. Something that Tony would have assumed the artist painting the wall would need to get to the top four-fifths of the wall. Instead, when Tony looked up, he saw a man suspended in mid-air, sitting in a harness that was attached to the ceiling, one end of the rope keeping him up there in a pile on the floor. From what Tony could tell the painter was tall and blonde, he also seemed to be singing softly to himself.

"That's Captain Rogers," Rhodey said suddenly, having noticed Tony staring at the man who was obviously unaware of their presence below him. "Nice guy, good soldier."

Tony nodded, faltering mid-step when he heard what the man was singing. The soft words being sung in a beautiful baritone voice floating down to them.

"… _ittle more, little more, they slap you like a bitch and you take it like a whore, upside down and around and around just another piec_ …"

The words slammed into his like a fist to his gut, but decades of masking everything made it look like he had just stumbled for a moment when in reality he was transported years back, to his bedroom, laughing with a guy he had, quite literally, dragged up from the street. Thin yet strong arms pulling him into a firm chest and soft, hot lips on his own.

"You alright, Tony?" Rhodey asked, his voice bringing Tony back to the VA and away from the sound of smooth Russian and those vibrant blue eyes that Tony swore had stared past all his masks and straight into his soul.

"Yeah," Tony said, shaking his head slightly. "Yeah, I'm good, Rhodey. Now where's this friend of yours?"

"Sargent Barnes," Rhodey reminded him as he led Tony to a small room were two men were already sitting on a couch. Rhodey and Tony sat down on the remaining couch.

"Tony, this is Sam Wilson and Sargent Barnes," Rhodey said making the introductions, nodding to the black man first and then to the brunette next to him. "Sargent Barnes, Sam this is my friend Tony Stark."

Both men smiled at Tony, but the engineer wasn't paying attention anymore, his eyes already fixated on Sargent Barnes' left arm. The only reason he could tell it was the correct arm was because he could see a stripe of shiny plastic peeking out between the shirt sleeve and the glove Barnes was wearing.

"Sorry. He gets like that a lot," Rhodey explained as Tony began making notes on his phone. "Best to let him just finish."

Neither Sam nor Barnes seemed to have a problem with Tony's seemingly rude behaviour.

"How'd it happen?" Tony asked suddenly as he kept typing away his ideas.

Barnes glanced at Rhodey who shrugged. "He'll find out anyway, Sargent. It's better if you just tell him."

"Our unit was caught in an IED, only me and the Cap made it out but we were captured," Barnes said in a soft, flat voice. "We escaped a couple weeks later and a week after that Wilson here and his wingman picked us up from the middle of nowhere."

Tony nodded as he listen. "Mind if I?" he asked, gesturing to the long-sleeved shirt Barnes was wearing.

There was a moment's pause before Barnes slung the shirt off his chest in one practiced move. The single motion telling Tony that while Barnes was used to having a prosthetic arm, it wasn't a good one, and it wasn't the first one either.

Fingers twitching, Tony's hand jerked to touch it before he drew back.

"You can touch it," Barnes said with a roll of his eyes as Tony immediately jumped forward to kneel next to him, his hands going straight to the arm. "Just be careful of the scar tissue," he warned as he shuffled forward on the couch, giving Tony better access to manipulate the limb.

Tony nodded, acknowledging that he had heard. "You're a Marine, Sargent Barnes," Tony said with a small smile when he noticed the tattoo on Barnes' back.

"You got a problem with Marines, Stark?" Barnes demanded defensively.

"No, no, no. Love the Marines. Marines are brilliant. Mother dearest was from a long line of NAVY, she hated the Marines on principle hence the fact I think Marines are the best." Both Rhodey and Sam shared a look at that. "Behind the Air Force, of course," Tony added quickly, shooting a glance at his best friend's face. Rhodey's mock scowl turned into a smirk.

"Air Force then Marines," Tony rambled. "Anything but NAVY, Sargent Barnes."

Barnes gave a huff of a laugh. "You're building me an arm, Stark. No need to call me by my rank. Name is James Barnes. Friends call me Bucky, though."

Tony's entire body stilled, his hands still wrapped around Barnes' prosthetic arm as he held it in mid-air bent at the elbow.

"Bucky," he said slowly, almost absentmindedly, his mind already halfway to elsewhere.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Nothing. Nothing about it. Nothing at all. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Fabulous nickname. Completely common, totally normal name…" Tony said, rambling again.

"Jesus Tony, are you sure you're feeling okay," Rhodey asked, frowning in concern and leaning forward to place hand on Tony's shoulder, which Tony immediately shrugged off.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Tony insisted, immediately trying to come up with something else to think about instead of the taste of sugar, charcoal, apples and some random spice he couldn't quite place, all a bit covered by the taste of ridiculously expensive, 200 year old champagne on warm lips and a hot tongue that canvassed his mouth like only an artist could.

"Wilson. Sam Wilson," he murmured, squinting at the man next to Barnes, but impossible blue eyes shielded by pale blonde lashes kept invading his mind.

"Paratrooper. 58th Rescue Squad. EXO-7, _Falcon_ ," he rattled off quickly as the information came to mind. "You use the wings. You were the first. They said you were the best. Used them like they were a part of you was what the reports said. Why'd you get out?"

Sam's face shut down for a moment. "My wingman, Riley, didn't make it out one time. It didn't feel right without him on my six. Didn't want to continue without him."

Tony winced at the moment of pain on Sam's face and he gave a man a small nod. "Sorry for your loss."

Sam didn't acknowledge it save for the release of tension in his shoulders.

With the memory momentarily shoved aside, until the next time he didn't have a project or was bored or was doing something that didn't required his entire concentration or was asleep or…, Tony turned his focus back the horrible, in his opinion anyway, prosthetic arm. _Who the fuck had authorised this?_

"…could do that…maybe an alloy of…might work that in…" he murmured to himself as the other three men talked.

The echoes of a laugh vibrating through his entire body, eyes crinkled shut and a forehead pressed against his own invaded his mind.

"You wouldn't happen to have a ridiculously tall friend that's also a bloody good artist called Steve would you?" he blurted out before the rational(ish) part of his mind that held his barely ever there filter could catch up with the rest of his mind and mouth. "Soft blonde hair, fucking amazing blue eyes, lips that taste like sugar and apples…" his voice several octave as he trailed off, his filter finally kicking in.

All three men stopped talking and stared at Tony. Tony himself refused to look up from the arm, his eyes fixated on a small scratch on the plastic as his entire face went red.

"I do…" Barnes said after a very awkward moment. "Why?"

Tony swallowed thickly as Rhodey frowned at him.

"Captain Steve Rogers? You probably passed him painting that freaking great mural as James brought you in," Sam threw in, looking at Tony with unabashed curiosity.

"Right, brilliant," Tony said, standing up and letting go of Barnes' arm as he stepped back, typing on his phone again. "I'm thinking completely metal, might be able to get it fully functioning bit it'll take a while. You've got a number, right? Of course you've got a number, everyone's got a number. How do you feel about inbuilt weapons? You need to come by the Tower, Rhodey will tell you when. Give him your number. Would a compartment for explosives be too much? That is utter shit by the way, I could build you one better than the original in a cave in middle of nowhere while half dead."

Shoving his phone into a pocket as the rambled, Tony shot out of the room before the words had finished leaving his mouth. He was already thinking about tattoo lined wrists and soft hair between his fingers.

Barnes, Rhodey and Sam followed him after a moment, the former of the three still tugging on his shirt as they ran through the empty halls of the VA.

By the time they caught up to the genius he was standing in the middle of the large hall, nervously chewing on the right sleeve of his hoodie, his left hand shoved in a pocket of his jeans, fingers softly caressing the scrap of paper he almost always carried on him in a comforting motion that he had done so many times before that he now did it unconsciously. Tony didn't notice them coming to stand next to him as he stared up at the dangling painter who was singing again.

"... _t the mess you've made it's s_ _uch a shame, a shame, we had to find out this way, revenge loves company, three makes it a crowd, so wash your mouth, sit thi..._ "

There was a distant look in Tony's eyes as he stared at the blonde, remembering the charcoal marks that had been left on his neck and shirt, the grease on his jaw that had been mixed with the residual dark powder.

Behind him Barnes scoffed in annoyance and easily jumped over the rope dividing the hall in two. Waiting until the blonde was leaning back, and didn't have a brush or pencil against the wall, Barnes reached up with his good arm and gave the rope a sharp tug.

There was a loud yelp that echoed around the space and it was followed by a paintbrush and several pencils clattering against the wooden flooring, one bouncing off Barnes' head before hitting the floor.

"Yebat' vse, Buck," the smooth baritone voice spat. "What the hell do you want?"

"Get your ass down here, punk," Barnes drawled impatiently, ignoring the now scowling blonde.

"Yeah, yeah," the artist grumbled. "Gimme a minu…" the blonde trailed off as he glanced over Rhodey, Barnes and Tony, his eyes focusing on only non-military one of the group.

Deftly sticking the paint palette onto the hook on his back the blonde waited for Barnes to take a couple steps back before releasing the small mechanism which freed the rope he was attached to. He dropped down from the ceiling in barely a second, stopping his rapid descent down the rope with perfect timing so that, while his feet didn't touch the floor, he was at eye level with the four standing men.

"Fuck," Tony swore softly. He may be several years older and his freakishly skinny frame had certainly filled out since that one crazy night, but it was undoubtedly the same teen, only now a man. His blonde hair was shorter in what was a slightly grown out military cut, he was in converse again (blue ones this time), and jeans instead of those ridiculous pinstripe pants (that Tony had kind of adored) but those _absolutely fuckable_ blue eyes were the exact same, if a little more world weary and sad. His arms were still spotted with paint, as were his face and clothes.

But it _was_ Steve, the random guy he'd found on the street and kissed in his bedroom, who'd spoken Russian and gone along with a mad plan, who'd offered to stay and help him deal with his psycho-parents. The same guy Tony was pretty fucking sure he'd fallen in love with, even though he'd only known him for less than an hour and hadn't seen again in practically a decade.

Taking a step forward he shot a hand out to grab one of the man's arms, twisting it so the wrist was facing up, just like he had done all those years ago. He ran a rough thumb across the graceful black words, feeling Steve shiver as he did so, before letting the wrist drop as he stumbled back a step in shock.

"It's actually you," he whispered, his eyes were fixated on Steve's hand painted white shirt as Rhodey and Sam joined himself Barnes, standing near where Steve hovered in the air.

Steve just grinned at him. "You actually end up getting engaged?" he asked, unwrapping the white earbuds hanging around his neck and shoving them, and the small device they were attached to, in a pocket.

Tony let out a bark of a laugh. " _Fuck no_. Got kicked out, went to MIT, ended up with SI anyway. Obie was pissed as hell, especially when I stopped manufacturing weapons and that stuff."

"Nice," Steve commented. Ignoring the others, just like Tony was.

"Marines work out alright for you, then?" Tony asked.

"It did," Steve shrugged. "Until it didn't."

Tony's mouth formed an 'oh' as he realised what had happened. "IED thing?" he asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I'm building an arm for 'Mr. Disgustingly Straight'," Tony answered, jerking his head in Barnes's direction.

The smile alone on Steve's face was enough for Tony to feel as if he was doing good in his life. His eyes kept flicking from Steve's face to the shirt he was wearing. Steve, noticing that small fact, flushed a brilliant red.

"Heh, yeah," he let out a nervous and slightly strangled laugh. "I uhh, I couldn't help myself."

His plain white t-shirt was painted with the same design he had doodled on that scrap of paper all those years ago in Tony's bedroom. The same scrap that was currently sitting in Tony's pocket.

Without thinking Tony pulled out the scrap and, holding it between two fingers, showed it to the blonde that had barely left his mind since the moment he'd grabbed him off the street and practically demanded he pretend to be his boyfriend.

Tony watched the Adam's apple in Steve's throat bob as Steve swallowed thickly, his head falling back slightly to rest upon the rope holding his entire weight.

" _Christ_ ," he moaned slightly, eyes screwed shut. "You actually kept that."

Tony shrugged self-consciously, feeling that damned flush rising up onto his face. "Pretty sure you saved my life," he stated softly as Steve's eyes flew open in shock. "'Course I kept it. It's cute too, good drawing. Dum-E liked it. Liked you too, kept asking when you were coming back. He told Butterfingers and U about the amazingly hot Steve, they want to meet you now. Also Jarvis. Well you already met the original Jarvis, but this Jarvis is another AI I built. He's actually named after the original Jarvis, stands of 'Just Another Rather Intelli…" Tony was rambling again. He did that a lot, it was a bit uncontrollable to be honest.

But Steve was just grinning at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an _oh so_ adorable way that should be so freaking illegal because it made Tony want to do absolutely unspeakable things to the soldier who was also an artist.

Still dangling in the air Steve reached out a hand and snagged his fingers on the front of Tony's hoodie, grabbing the material and pulled the engineer towards him in one sharp yank before cutting him off with a kiss.

It was just was just as Tony remembered it only a billion times better because this was the actual thing and not Tony pretending it was Steve instead of whatever random hook-up he was with.

Tony let himself be pulled so he was standing between Steve's legs, wrapping his arms around the blonde's waist, both to keep him steady but also so that Tony could keep the man pressed up against his chest. Steve had his arms around his shoulders and Tony could feel those slender fingers burrowing into his hair and pressing against his neck.

Now that there wasn't any alcohol between them Tony could make out the cardamom mixed with the apples in Steve's mouth but the charcoal that had drawn Tony in like a drug had been replaced by the sharp chemical bitterness of the paint Steve was using. It was only slightly odd, his head being pulled down to Steve's, because the taller man wasn't standing which made Tony the taller one at the moment. And Tony really, _really,_ hoped it wasn't going to be another ten odd years before this happened again because he seriously didn't think he would survive that.

He let a hand drift up to tangle in that blonde hair, sighing into Steve's mouth when he registered the fact that it was still so soft between his fingers. And if Steve was crushing them closer together then Tony _really_ didn't mind…

But the general human requirement to breath got in the way and they broke apart, breathing heavily. But this time they stayed wrapped in each other's arms, foreheads pressed against each other as their breathe mingle together, combining apples and paint and cardamom with grease and old spice and coffee.

"You stayed perfect," Tony finally murmured and a laugh bubbled up in Steve's throat.

"You didn't let them destroy you," Steve whispered back, opening his eyes and Tony immediately latched onto them, not letting those impossible baby blues leave his sight.

"Couldn't let them destroy your muse now, could I?" Tony smirked, and it was warm and cheeky, just like Steve had missed. "You ever end up drawing me like your French girls."

"I thought you would have figured out I didn't have any French girls," Steve shot back at him, flushing slightly.

"Hoped, yes. Couldn't quite let myself believe." Tony replied, not completely sure where the honesty was coming from. "You save any more puppies?"

"Mmmm, no. No puppies," Steve hummed. "Couples kittens though."

Tony didn't bother restraining his burst of laughter. "You learn how to run away yet?"

"Nah, not yet. Drove my CO's insane. Buck would probably tell you I only got stupider."

"I can only imagine."

Steve pressed another kiss against his lips, this one quick and chaste, before moving back slightly as he ran his hands down Tony's arms before settling his large hands on Tony's waist, his pinkies slipping into the loops of the genius' jeans. Tony eagerly took the opportunity to rest his other hand on Steve's neck, happily running his fingers through the blonde locks before beginning to trace patterns on the back of Steve's neck, relishing the full body shudder that ran through the dangling man.

"Steve?" Tony asked.

"Hmmmm?" came the reply as Steve's thumbs sneaked under his hoodie to rest on his hipbones.

"Would you be open to the idea of me kissing you again?"

"Only," Steve gave Tony a small smile that melted away the pathetic remains of the masks and barriers he'd built up over the years and Steve had managed to shatter with only one kiss. "If you swear not to pay me this time."

"Scout's honour," Tony replied immediately.

And Tony felt the vibrations from Steve's laughter through his entire body, starting at his lips which were millimetres from Steve's.

"Somehow I doubt you were ever in the Boy Scouts, Tony."

"But you probably were," Tony shrugged. "So it still counts."

"Nooo, I don't thin…mmph."

Tony cut him off with a kiss, smiling at the sheer happiness he felt of just knowing he had found Steve and that the blonde he dragged in from the street wasn't just a crazy, delusional figment of his own imagination.

Somewhere, behind everything else, they both knew that their friends would be wanting an explanation, but neither could bring themselves to care as they basked in the one thing both had wanted for so long.

"Have dinner with me tonight," Tony said when they drew apart again.

"Okay," Steve agreed immediately.

"What time?"

"I should probably clock another couple hours on this thing," Steve said, giving a minute jerk of his head in the direction of the mural. "Then I promised birdbrain I would attend one of his group sessions, so pick me up at eighteen-thirty?"

"Birdbrain, nice. I guess I'll see you at half six, then." Tony said drawing reluctantly away from Steve, who let him go equally as reluctantly.

Barnes and Rhodey were standing next to each other, both wearing identical looks of confusion, shock and a little bit of wonder. Sam, apparently, had left… probably to go do counsellory things.

"Come on Rhodey," he said loudly, tugging at the man's arm as he walked backwards to the door. "I want to get some plans down Mr Disgustingly Straight's new arm before I get back here to pick up Steve for our date…" he rambled, winking at Steve as the gap between them grew.

Steve shook his head in amusement at Tony, sticking his tongue out childishly when Tony pouted at him. The last thing he saw was of Steve steadily hoisting himself back up to the ceiling. His laughter ringing around the hall.

"Tuesday, Buck," Steve laughed, sending shivers down Tony's spine. "Told you it's the best damned day of the week."

* * *

Right, well there you have it. Hope you liked it.

I probably would have had the whole thing up on the weekend but I was ignoring my laptop. I'm the type of person who has multiple windows open with multiple tabs on each but my laptop has a habit of randomly shutting its self down for absolutely no reason and that happened on the weekend and I got annoyed and decided to ignore it, which is generally what I do when I get annoyed at anything.

Bucky - Yebat' vse, Buck. = Fuck it all, Buck. That one bit of Russian in there. Again, I used GoogleTranslate so... yeah.

The first song Steve is singing is Shake Tramp (again) I really love it, and the second in Underdog by You Me At Six, another totally awesome band.

I really liked writing this one, it was fun. I've got another Tony/Steve fic I'm thinking about, I only have a very loose plan for it, but one of the main things about it is Tony have a weakness for really shit rock music so that might happen, depends on if i can figure out some more things about it.

-Nita


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